Disclaimer: Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.

AN: Coming down to the wire! This short chapter will answer one question, but raises another.

You put me on a line and hung me out to dry
Darling that's when I decided to go to see you
You cut me down to size and opened up my eyes
Made me realize what I could not see.

--Coldplay: Swallowed in the Sea

Chapter 21: Name Calling

The next few days passed in a pleasant rush of chatting, planning, and long nights of storytelling, until the quarrel over the coffee. Beth returned on Monday and was pleased to find that her vocal observation had eased the atmosphere in the room to livable. She even tolerated Beetlejuice's antics, to a point. He enjoyed hiding her pens and pencils, but on this morning, the Friday before the week of Halloween, he had decided to hide the coffeemaker, which ended in such a furious commotion between the two of them that Lydia had to interfere.

"Beetlejuice! Where did you put the coffeemaker?" She squinted at the innocence-protesting poltergeist lounging on her bed. He was laying on his stomach and inch or two above the bed, a book of British poetry under his nose. The illusion would have been perfect, except that the book was upside down. He grinned mischievously at her and leaned back on his elbow, his linen shirt hanging open and his pearlescent skin glowing in the morning light. Fighting distraction, she scowled with as much ferocity as she could muster. "Really, B, you know you shouldn't mess with the coffee."

He gave her a speculative look. Beth groaned, exasperated. "Please, no lover's quarrel! I just want my bloody coffee, alright?" Lydia's face flooded pink at the thought.

"Beth, Beetlejuice and I, we aren't lovers. We're just… um, you know, dating. Or something."

Beth rolled her eyes. "Yes, that's why he spends all his time here. Don't tell me you two… I mean, I don't know if it's poss… bloody hell, I don't even want to know. Beetlejuice! Coffee?"

But he was looking soberly at Lydia. She was too embarrassed to even look up from the floor. He sighed theatrically and flicked a finger, and a huge silver tray appeared with milk and coffee and fine china cups, spiraling lazily towards where Beth was standing. And then, as he turned back to his upside down book, he muttered clearly enough to be heard by both, "Oh, it's possible."

"Beetlejuice!" Lydia exclaimed, unthinking in her chagrin. But all she saw was a look of terrible hurt, and a soft pop, and he was gone. Gone. She had sent him back.

Beth was as shocked as she. "Bloody hell, Lyddie! I thought… oh. Oh." And then she couldn't think of anything to say, because without its master, the coffee tray crashed to the floor, spraying hot coffee and cold milk in a three foot radius. Lydia just stood in shock, staring at the space where he had been. Beth reached for her. "I said his name! It's my fault, Lyddie. Mine."

"No. You couldn't send him back." Lydia's voice was quiet. "I did it. I said his name three times. I just… I didn't think that… I was just careless." But Beth knew exactly what she was thinking.

"You didn't think it mattered, did you? Oh, dear." She stepped carefully over the broken china to Lydia, and slid her arms around her. "Oh, dear girl. He loves you. He does." Lydia rested her head on her friend's shoulder and hot tears leaked down her nose.

"No, Juno was right. Juno was right." Lydia's muffled voice was full of anguish. "And I was so… he has been so… so wonderful!" The last word came out in a wail, and all of Lydia's happiness turned to ashes. Beth squeezed her, trying to comfort as best as she could. Finally, Lydia calmed, and Beth managed to get her over to the bed. They sat down and Beth wiped her tears with a sheet corner that smelled of ozone and whiskey.

"Now, get ahold of yourself, Lyddie. Just because he got sent back, doesn't mean he doesn't love you. The way I see it, there are two possibilities. One, there is something he loves more than he loves you, or two…" She paused, uncertain, but felt it had to be said. "Or two, there is something you love more than you love him."